


More than Words ... but They're Nice Anyway

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Aziraphale is distressed when Crowley won't admit to saying 'I love you' ... even though he's been saying it for weeks.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 26
Kudos: 226





	More than Words ... but They're Nice Anyway

“I love you.”

“What?” Aziraphale looks up from his plate of crepes and across the table at Crowley busy buttering his slice of toast and, by all outward appearances, paying Aziraphale absolutely no mind.

“Hmm?” Crowley mutters, setting his first slice aside and starting on his second.

“Wh---what did you say?”

“When?”

“Just now?” Aziraphale glances around the dining room on the off chance someone else is about, maybe hiding in the shadows.

Someone who … _loves_ him?

“Would you please pass the marmalade?” Crowley asks, extending a hand.

Aziraphale’s brow crinkles, curious how in the world he heard _I love you_ if Crowley asked for the marmalade. None of those words sound even remotely alike!

“Yes,” Aziraphale says, handing the marmalade jar across the table. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

“Is … is that what you said?”

“When?”

Aziraphale sighs in exasperation. “Just _now_?”

“Yeah. Why?” Crowley’s eyes meet Aziraphale’s. “Did you hear something else?”

Aziraphale holds Crowley’s gaze several long minutes before he decides he’s being ridiculous. Crowley has never exactly been shy about any of his feelings. If he loved Aziraphale, he’d simply come out and say it.

Obviously, that’s not the case here.

“No,” Aziraphale lies, returning to his crepes, his appetite gone. “No, I … I heard nothing.”

***

“I love you.”

“Wh-what!?” Aziraphale yelps, fighting to be heard over pedestrians screaming in terror as Crowley squeals around a corner and jettisons straight into traffic.

“What?” Crowley returns. “What was that?”

Aziraphale white knuckles the dash harder than required for him to keep his seat, frustrated that this volley of words above the screeching of rubber must continue since Crowley refuses to slow down and drive safely enough to engage in normal conversation.

“What … did … you … say?” Aziraphale asks through gritted teeth.

“Oh.” Crowley’s brow furrows, his eyes glued to the road as he maneuvers between cars, nearly clipping the curb when he passes a rather large lorry on the wrong side. “I said _hold onto your seat. The ride’s about to get bumpy_.”

Aziraphale shoots Crowley a side-long look. ‘ _That’s not what he said_!’ he thinks. ‘ _That’s nowhere near what he said!’_ Even if he didn’t say what Aziraphale _thinks_ he said, he only spoke three words. Not that Aziraphale was facing him directly. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road for a second when Crowley drives in case he needs to miracle some poor innocent out of the road. Aziraphale caught Crowley’s lips move in the reflection of the rearview.

But his sleuthing gets knocked clear of his thoughts when Crowley veers to the left, throwing Aziraphale across the seat and into the door. Aziraphale swallows hard, pushing down the heart that’s lodged in his throat ready to propel itself out his mouth and escape this demonic death trap.

“I’m sorry but … it’s a bit … too late … for that … my dear.”

***

“I love …”

“ _What_?” Aziraphale rounds in front of Crowley, stopping him in his tracks. “ _What_ is it you’re going to say? And be honest now! Because if you’re not saying what I _think_ you’re saying, I might just be going insane!”

Crowley blinks behind dark lenses at the white fire glowing in the angel’s blue eyes despite them being outdoors in the afternoon and surrounded by humans. “I … I was about to say …”

“Yes?” Aziraphale leans in aggressively, forcing Crowley back a step.

“… that I love walking through the park with you. Reminds me of old times. The _good_ old times, anyway.” Crowley pauses, waits for a response. He grows uncomfortable in the silence under the scrutiny of Aziraphale’s piercing glare. “You know, before we knew that feeding ducks bread was bad for them?”

Aziraphale huffs at Crowley’s attempt at humor, but only slightly. “Are you certain,” he says, enunciating each word carefully, “that that’s what you were going to say?”

“Yes?” Crowley replies unconvincingly, and with the addition of an emphatic nod. “That’s exactly what I was going to say. Why? Is there something the matter?”

His answer infuriates Aziraphale, deep down to his core.

A joke!

He’s treating this like a joke!

How can he be so cruel?

He’s a demon, yes, but this isn’t just run-of-the-mill evil.

It’s _Evil_.

There’s a great many things Aziraphale can stand Crowley joking about, but not this. He’s about to tell him that, too, in no uncertain terms; give him a lecture he won’t likely soon forget. But when Crowley offers the angel his arm in a gentlemanly fashion and knocks him a little bow, it topples Aziraphale’s defenses.

Aziraphale can’t fault Crowley for his feelings … or lack thereof.

He can’t be angry at him because his pride is bruised.

He takes the offered arm and winds his through.

“No, my dear,” Aziraphale says, returning to his place at Crowley’s side, matching his steps when they start strolling again. “Nothing at all.”

Aziraphale breathes in deep and exhales slow. He’s not being fair. He doesn’t know that Crowley _doesn’t_ love him. If he didn’t love him, would he have begged him to go off to the stars as often as he did? And if that’s the case, Aziraphale doesn’t need the words if they’re what Crowley means to say. He and Crowley are supernatural entities. Their thoughts and emotions can’t be measured on the scale of common, human words. Why, he’d heard a passage in a charming older movie Tracy made him watch that explains it perfectly.

_“Words, words, they're all used up, they're hard to say. They've all been wasted on the shampoo commercials, and the ads, and the flavorings. All the beautiful words. I mean, how can you love a floor wax? How can you love a diaper? How can I use the same word about you that someone else uses about a stuffing? I'm exploding with love for you and I can't use the word!”_

And he was right. The distinguished older man with the unfortunately large nose who recited those words was right. What he and Crowley have goes beyond words – especially mortal words. No need for those overused and abused words!

I love you? Who needs them!? Not him! Not at all!

 _But once,_ he thinks with a heavy heart as he squeezes Crowley closer, _just once … it would be so nice to hear them._

***

“Explain to me again – what are you taking me to see? Because I don’t think I understand.”

“It’s called _Sixty Second Hamlet_ ,” Crowley explains for the fifth time but with the same giddy chuckle as the first.

“So, we’re driving to a theater over two hours away to watch a performance of Hamlet that’s only a minute long?”

“Yup! And it’s worth every mile, I’ll tell you that! Someone finally figured out a way to make that damned play a helluva lot less dreary. Just wait till you see it! You’re gonna _love_ it!”

And there’s that word, hanging in the air, directed at something other than him. And as much as he swore to himself that he wouldn’t let it bother him … it bothers him.

“Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

Aziraphale hangs back a step as Crowley leads him to his car, giving himself enough time and space to say what he needs to say before they go any further. Not just for now and not just for today, but for every day forward. “Before we do anything, I … I wanted to say something.”

Crowley stops with his hand on the door handle and turns around. “Yes?”

“I …” Aziraphale looks at the demon in front of him – six-plus-feet of conceit and ego and swagger that, despite himself, Aziraphale can’t see ever getting over if he lost him. Sure, they don’t _need_ the words. But he _wants_ the words. And if he’s the only one willing to say them then … so be it. “I love you.”

The blank expression that answers that declaration downright terrifies Aziraphale. If Crowley were human, Aziraphale swears he’d expect him to turn tail and run, leave his Bentley behind in favor of a swifter, more expedient exit on foot. Being the insufferable demon he is, he doesn’t react - not for a while. But then he grins ever so slowly, clapping his hands together in delight. “ _Finally_!”

Aziraphale’s head jerks, taken aback by that response. “What? What do you mean _finally_?”

“I’ve been saying _I love you_ for weeks, but I couldn’t get you to say it back!”

Aziraphale’s lower jaw drops of its own accord. “But … but I … I thought I was imagining it! When I asked you to repeat it, you’d say something else!”

“Because you looked so confused. A few times, you looked _angry_. I thought that maybe you … you know … didn’t want to hear me say …”

“Hear you say … _what_?” Aziraphale fishes.

Crowley’s triumphant grin becomes softer, fonder. “I love you.”

Aziraphale nods. He’s fighting not to smile. After everything Crowley has put him through, he doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

But he’s losing.

“You’re quite the idiot,” he says, his lips twitching uncontrollably at the corners. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” Crowley steps away from his car and wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. “But I’m _your_ idiot. And there’s no getting rid of me now.”


End file.
